Of Hormones and Frizzy Hair
by InTheirBadnessReign
Summary: Hermione Granger. Brilliant, the brightest young witch of her time. Oh yes, one thing. She really can't deal with her hormones. Books will not help her get out of this mess! Inspired by HBP film. Review please!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Story set in Sixth Year of Hogwarts, except nothing happens with Voldemort, Draco, Death Eaters etc. Life is relatively normal at Hogwarts. **Please review!**

* * *

I hold myself in high regard, without conceit. It is merely observation. My years at Hogwarts, thus far, have been... well, saying 'eventful' would even be lying to myself. They've been catastrophic, horrible, worrying, unsettling and scarring. I've watched my best friend being slowly torn apart by an enemy that holds over him years of experience, unmatchable talent and unrelenting evil. He's faced death and had experiences no adult could bear to imagine, yet he is barely halfway through his teenage years. Despite everything, he comes out ever stronger and ready to fight back every time. I've been inches away from a werewolf, fought a murderous chess set and watched a man die with my own eyes. I have been thrown into a world much bigger than me. My two best friends are my life; a life I know could be torn apart in seconds if everything the past 5 years has been building up to fails. The world rests on Harry Potter's shoulders, and I have to help him through.

I hold myself in high regard because of this. I am analytically minded. Callous, some might say, yet I recognise myself to have held it together surprisingly well considering what I've been through. My grades are perfect and as far as I can tell, I am still right in the mind. I have provided unrelenting support for my reckless best friends no matter what they have chosen to do.

It therefore confuses me how my entire universe can be turned upside down by the utterance of two syllables by one silly, dim-witted child of a girl.

"Won won."

It sends my brain into a frenzy of expletives and murderous thoughts. My vision is blurred by a mixture of rage and heartache and I just want to go and jump off the astronomy tower. No book can help me out of this. Her silly little squeaks and the squelching, sickly noises coming from them day in day out penetrate my consciousness like a hot knife does a jacket potato.

People look at me with knowing, piteous glances as soon as they walk in the common room and I bury my nose ever deeper into my book, newspaper or knees, reading the same line over and over or counting the loose stitches on my worn out pyjama bottomed knees. Harry sends a grimace my way before turning and grinning at his best friend. It's not his fault. It's an unwinnable battle when the war is invisible. He could never pick the right side even if he tried.

Sometimes it gets too much and I stand up, slam my book shut and stamp my way up to the dormitory to a chorus of sarcastic "oohs" coming out of the grinning mouths of my so-called friends. I just lay there and cry, wondering what the hell I did to deserve this. After everything I've done, all the times I've selflessly risked my life. All my hard work at school and vain attempts to stay out of trouble get rewarded with this. People think I'm being selfish and stuck up. Well, maybe it's my time. Maybe I deserve to be. I live my life for others... why can't one thing go my way?

Sometimes I sneak into their dormitory at night and sit at the end of his bed. Harry keeps his trunk unlocked. His cloak is so easy to find. The silky, almost water-like texture is a stark contrast to the rest of the contents. I watch him sleep. He possesses no grace, no elegance. Really, he's a bumbling oaf, clumsy and unable to stay out in the sun for more than 10 minutes. But he's mine. Or he used to be. Maybe I just assumed it would always go my way. We'd be united after the war was won in a festival of tears, champagne, happiness and rainbows. Our kids would have gorgeous brown eyes and beautiful deep red hair, a combination of his coppery red and my warm brown. They'd be smart, beautiful... their lives would be limitless. But it seems that my dream will be gifted upon somebody else now. I can see it drifting away, like one of my old inflatable dinghies caught on the tide at the beach. Life was far simpler back then, you know.

If there's one singular blissful thing about a muggle life, it's the simplicity. Yet I suppose even then I'd have the same problem. This year... I feel it'll be the most challenging yet. Forget the horror stories of the near death encounters, I'm dealing with Ron Weasley. That is always a horrendous challenge.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much for your reviews! It's so nice to get feedback. ^_^

Anyway, onto the next chapter. Please review!

* * *

I've always loved weekends at Hogwarts, ever since I started. I always wake early, around 6am, and go down to breakfast before the rush. Then, if it's nice outside, I walk around the grounds, feeling the morning dew between my bare toes and squinting at the glare of a fresh, yellow sun peeping its head above the trees. I walk down to the lake and play with the pebbles, watching them dance over the water without a care in the world before plunging into the icy depths.

I never break routine. What is the point when it simply leads to disorganisation and chaos? Harry claims my life lacks excitement, but while my life is not in danger I prefer to go about things my way, thank you very much. This morning I awoke as usual, got up and wandered into the common room, stifling yawns and trying my best to wrestle my bed hair closer to my scalp. I usually shower when I return to the dormitory, there being no point in vanity when nobody rises until breakfast is officially brunch. The battle with my hair, however, rages within me constantly, and I can never seem to stop my hands reaching up and attempting to comb down the multitude of stray strands that so hassle me. Exiting the common room, sunlight bathes the corridor in a pleasant, yellow mist, and I smile that the first few months of term have been so kind, weather wise at least.

Saturday morning is always a full English breakfast. One of my guilty pleasures, I must confess, is getting up and stuffing myself full of sausage, eggs, bacon, baked beans, toast and tomatoes without a single person staring or disturbing me. Well, Dumbledore totters in occasionally wearing his rather attractive Japanese dressing gown, but other than that I'm quite alone.

The stone corridors feel cold under my feet, so I waste no time skipping over them towards the Great Hall. I dance down the staircases like a complete loon; the portraits that are awake stare at me in either mild amusement or haughty disapproval.

The entrance hall is one of my favourite places in the castle. It was my first view of the inside of Hogwarts, my first proper view of the new world I was about to enter into. The first feeling that everything that had happened since I turned eleven was real. I pull out my wand and point at the large, stone torches while pirouetting around the hall, igniting them one by one before bursting into the Great Hall, chuckling at my uncharacteristic, impulsive mood.

I stand just within the Great Hall, choosing in my head which table to sit at today. After trying all the tables out, Gryffindor had always remained my favourite. I guess my routine of sitting at it in the same spot for three meals a day during the week has made me partial to it. I skip to the left, closing my eyes and trying to navigate to the spot simply from memory. I feel the table for the familiar, oddly shaped knot underneath where my plate usually sits. I walk slowly and steadily until my foot gets caught under one of the benches and I topple forward, landing face first onto the bench with a thump that echoes around the hall like the sound of a drum at a funeral. I smile to myself, slightly dazed from the bump on my head. Still lying on my front, I feel along the table with my right hand for my knot. There it is. Sitting up, eyes still closed, I yawn widely before wrenching my eyes open to face the day once more, only finding myself to be facing two very tired looking, very stunned faces.

SQUAWKSQUAKSCREECHSCREECHBANGBANGBANGTHUDSCREAAAM. Silence.

Lavender's laughter shoots through my brain and I instantly begin rubbing my temples, feeling a headache coming on. Any embarrassment I may have felt two seconds ago has evaporated, leaving fury in its wake at my morning being disturbed and the mere sight of Lavender-idiot face-Brown.

Still massaging my temples, I force myself to converse with them, hoping my mere company would be enough to drive them away.

"Lavender, has anyone told you your laugh sounds like typewriters eating drawing pins being kicked down the grand staircase? No? Maybe not. Don't worry, though, the noise will be echoing around my brain cavity all day, reminding me what a fun person to be around you really are and how glad I am to know you."

Lavender's face is expressionless, like a smoothed over crème Brulee inside a ramekin. I can hear her tiny brain ticking over trying to comprehend exactly what I just said.

"Err, well, thank you... Hermione." Lavender forced her speech before looking at Ron with a "quick-quick-let's-go-to-avoid-mental-over-there" expression on her face.

They get up quickly and leave. Ron grunts a hasty greeting in my direction, having been staring down at his covered plate and ignoring me as best he could. I sigh and stare down at where my plate should be. It appears, full of my favourite food. I pick up my fork and start massacring a sausage, imagining Ron's sunburned face at the end of it.

I should report him. He shouldn't be spending all night out of his dorm, probably in the Prefects' bathroom, hiding out so as to avoid the patrolling Professors and Filch.

It sets an awful example! And now he'll only go and sleep all day and pester me for the answers to his homework tomorrow. It's so annoying.

I will report him.

I sigh. I won't report him. On the face of it, his whining pleas for my help grind at me like sandpaper against wood. But really, it's a thrill. It's the only attention he gives me, the only feeling I ever get from him that he needs me. This is the fifth time he has done this and I've never reported him. I will never report him. I couldn't.

Now I'm that pebble. My morning started off so beautifully. It always does. I skip down the stairs, thinking of all the possibility and opportunity that today could bring, and then they brush past me in a frenzy of giggles, aftershave and perfume, and I sink into the icy depths until tomorrow, when a fresh pebble is thrown. Tomorrow I'll try harder to stay above the surface.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews everyone! Keep them coming! I'm glad you're enjoying it. ^_^

* * *

I have these days sometimes where I wake up and just know that everything is going to go wrong, no matter what I do to try and prevent this. It feels like a dull mist is hanging in front of your face, making everything that should be brilliant in your life look fuzzy, hazy and far away. You know that everything is going brilliantly, heck, you can see it, all around you, but the mist hampers it, makes you ignore all the good and focus on the one, singular thing that's going wrong in your life.

It's usually love. Maybe he's too far away, unreachable no matter how much your heart and soul cries out to be near him. Maybe he doesn't know you exist, or maybe you know in your heart that he feels for you, but as you scratch and claw trying to break the outer surface it still remains hard, strong and unrelenting against your advances.

It's enough to drive a person crazy. It makes you feel sick, it makes you want to drive your head into a book, or scrub every surface around you clean until you've forgotten, however fleetingly, the way you're feeling.

I feel like all I ever think about and all I ever do is talk about him. Like a constant broken record in my head. I really wish I could be like any other love sick girl, but I can't. Hermione Granger does not get ill from being in love with her best friend. You cannot fault Hermione Granger. Reliable, trustworthy, good. Everybody knows it. Especially him.

"Hermione...?" His voice cuts into my consciousness and my head snaps up at a dizzying speed, sending my head spinning.

"Help me, please. This potions homework... Why are you being so stubborn all of a sudden? You know I think you're the most wonderful person in the world...?"

My heart leaps at the false compliment, but I don't let it show. I sigh heavily and bury my nose deeper into my book.

"Ask Harry. He has the book."

Oh yes, "the book." As if my life wasn't hard enough at the moment, I have to compete with the elusive "Half Blood Prince."

"Why are you so bitter about that, 'mione? Any normal person would at least be interested... the guy is a bloody genius."

"If you're implying Harry-"

"-not Harry, the prince."

"Ron. When will you get it into your skull that this book is nothing but dangerous! Remember Second Year? Remember what a strange, clever book did to your sister? If you had an ounce of sensibility you'd be agreeing with me and telling Harry to get shot of that thing."

I turn away from him, face red at having gotten so angry. My studies are my pride and joy. Harry is the hero. He can't encroach on my territory, not while I can help it.

"Get over yourself, Hermione."

I turn to face him again, eyes watering with a mixture of hurt and complete rage.

"Can't you be happy for him, for once? Can't you be happy for me? We're both slightly cheerful for the first time in years and you do nothing but sneer at us as if we're pathetic rodents about to catch a deadly disease. Lavender makes me happy. The Half Blood Prince evidently makes Harry happy. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

Ron advances until he is mere inches away from my face. The tears escape the confines of my eyes and roll down my cheeks, burning like acid against limestone.

I step back, away from his angry face.

"How would you like it if you could see what's most precious to you being stolen away from you by something so utterly insignificant it's almost laughable?" My voice is barely above a whisper. His face stays the same.

"Listen, Hermione, you need to wise up. Grades aren't the be all and end all in life. If that's what's most precious to you, then I pity you."

He storms out of the common room, smacking the Fat Lady against the wall on his way out. Her loud complaints echo the down the hallway outside as the tears roll off my chin onto my jumper. I look down at "Hogwarts: A History," open in my arms at the page cataloguing Hogwarts' most famous witches and wizards. No mention of a Half Blood Prince. I grab the top of the page and rip with all my force. I throw the book to the ground and cast spell after spell, disintegrating it without even touching it.

I slump into the nearest armchair and pull my knees up close. I sob into my tights until visible wet patches form on the knees. Next to me lies a piece of tattered parchment, no doubt left by a student the night before after completing homework. I wipe my eyes and grab a quill out of my nearby bag.

"Ron..."

I wipe my eyes again before continuing, smudging my newly bought mascara. Another attempt at making him notice me failed.

"Do you know why I envy you so much? You always have somebody to talk to. Your best friend is always there, by your side, in the next bed. You're boys, you share boy-ish things, you laugh about what girls have done and talk about who, in an ideal world, would throw themselves before you and beg to be with you.

But me, my two best friends are boys. Who do I turn to when I get down? I'm not blaming you. I know you'd never understand and I don't expect you to. When you're so alone in the world as I am, you tend to hold on to the things that matter most.

Be they books, grades, appearances... they matter because they define you, and without yourself, who do you turn to when there's nobody else?

Harry's book drives me crazy, Lavender Brown makes me want to hurt something. Why? They're both driving me further and further away from what really is most precious to me in the world. And, if now, after all of that, you can't figure out what it is..."

I stop writing. I can't finish that sentence.

Leaving the parchment lying casually on the table, I collect my belongings and head up to the dorm. No doubt it'd be thrown on the fire within minutes. Careless, perhaps, to leave it lying there where anyone can pick it up, but this has made me careless. I don't care about a first year finding out that Hermione Granger has dropped her defences and fallen in love. It's about time the world knew anyway.

* * *

Harry ambles into the common room shortly after Hermione left, slinging his bag on top of the still-wet ink of Hermione's letter. He stands a short distance from the fire and places his broom on the ground. He repeatedly summons it, trying different ways of catching it in his hand every time, no doubt trying to look cool but, sadly, failing. He adds a wink, in his last attempt, making the entire spectacle more hilarious than alluring.

A sigh, and Harry picks up his bag, his eye catching Hermione's neat script as it falls to the floor. He grabs it an inch from the carpet and pockets it before racing up the stairs to his dorm. He'd give it back to Hermione tomorrow. No doubt she'll be mortified to find one of her essays missing.


End file.
